


I'll Soon Be There With Snow

by pocky_slash



Category: Arthur Christmas (2011)
Genre: Christmas, F/F, F/M, First Kiss, First Meetings, Gen, M/M, POV Multiple, Snow and Ice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 09:03:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a little boy in Australia who wants a white Christmas more than anything. Arthur's determined to make it happen, even if he's facing some resistance from Jack Frost--or, at least, from Jack Frost's daughter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Soon Be There With Snow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littledust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littledust/gifts).



> Merry Christmas, **littledust**! Happy Super Secret Yuletide from your Super Secret Treat Writer!
> 
> This takes place roughly two years after the movie, or leading up to Arthur's third Christmas as Santa. May I make the humble suggestion that the reader imagine Anne-Marie Duff in the role of Jillian Frost?

*  
 _July_  
*

Bryony Shelfley absolutely, positively is 100% focused on her upcoming vacation.

Generally. Mostly.

She's 100% committed to spending a holiday with Amelia. She's looking forward to visiting the beach and going on the evening cruise that Amelia booked and sightseeing and shopping.

She's just also really looking forward to the gift wrap convention that's starting their two weeks away.

She just wants to grab a few more photos for her wrapping portfolio. They're not leaving for another six hours and last Bryony checked, Amelia was in the development lab, taking one last look at the new designs for the HOHO 4000 before checking out for their holiday. That gives Bryony plenty of time to nip over to her office, grab some more pictures for her portfolio, and end up back at their flat in time to make the transport to Greenland.

She hesitates, though, in her dash down the hall, when she sees the doors leading down to letters are all wide open. There's only one person at the North Pole who leaves doors open wherever he goes, and he should also be on holiday.

She follows the draft down to Arthur's old office, sighing. The other elves call Arthur "Santa" now, though it took some time for the shift in mindset, at least until they saw him in the suit for the first time. Bryony, though--well, Arthur will always be Arthur to Bryony. 

He's sitting at his old desk. The room is still filled with messy piles of letters and postcards, bedecked from floor to ceiling in seasonal decorations. Arthur, in jeans and an oversized jumper, is sitting at the desk, looking through letters.

"You know," she says, "you're not an elf any longer, Arthur. There are other people who do that, now."

Arthurs startles and knocks over a cup full of pens. Bryony bends to pick them up before Arthur can make the attempt himself and inevitably knock five more things over in the process. 

"Oh, hello, Bryony!" Arthur says. "I thought you were going on vacation with Amelia?"

"I am," she says, putting the pencil cup back on the desk. "I thought _you_ were supposed to be going on vacation this month, too."

"Oh, well," Arthur says, "there's so much to do! I don't really have time for...all of that. I know Mum wants me to go away, but things still need to get done and I have a responsibility to--"

"Arthur!" Bryony cuts his babbling off easily after almost three years of practice. "It's _July_!"

In the silence, Bryony can hear the ticking of the sparkly snowman clock on the wall.

"Well, sure," Arthur says. "But still. The letters have already started." 

He brandishes a letter at her, one that's been handwritten in blue marker on paper depicting a snowy landscape. Bryony has enough time to read _Dear Santa_ before he pulls it back. She sighs and rubs her forehead.

Bryony learned not long after that first disastrous, wonderful Christmas that Arthur didn't exactly have friends. The other elves thought he was a klutz. His family generally left him on his own. There were a few internet penpals whom he met on his stamp collecting forums, but no one he spent time with, no one he could be himself with.

Well, until now. Bryony thinks she should feel smug that, of all the people at the North Pole, she's the one who gets to be Santa Claus' only friend, but instead she just feels...sad.

"Arthur," she says, and trails off. "Why don't you come with us?" Amelia is going to strangle her with a HOHO charger. "There'll be lots of other people there for you to meet. Spend some time with. Get to know?"

Because, at the end of the day, Bryony really, truly, absolutely believes that Arthur will be so much less lonely if he could just get laid.

Arthur is ignoring her, though, and reading the letter.

"'Dear Santa, My name is Johnny and I don't believe in you, except for a little.'" He laughs. "Enough to write a letter, at least. 'I really want it to snow for Christmas this year, like in Rudolph and the Muppets. My Mum says it can't snow for Christmas because we live in Australia and it doesn't snow here in December, but if you are really magic, I bet you can make it happen. Thank you, Santa, I hope this letter didn't wake you up. Love, Johnny.'"

"Arthur," Bryony says again.

"Wouldn't it be lovely to make it snow for Christmas in Australia?" Arthur asks, looking up from the letter.

"I think it would probably destroy their ecosystem," Bryony says. "But, Arthur--"

"Who do you think I could talk to about that?" he asks. "Mum would probably know, but I told her I was going out and if I go back she'll just start pestering me about taking a vacation again--"

"Arthur!"

Arthur jumps up. "I know!" he says. "Jack Frost! I remember, Dad has that story about the time in '54 he needed help to get it to snow at a ski lodge in Vermont! He went to Jack Frost and it snowed on Christmas Eve for them! I can go talk to him!"

" _Arthur!_ " Bryony snaps, but he's already jogging towards the door, grabbing his coat as he goes. 

"Thanks, Bryony! Have a good vacation! Tell Amelia I said hello!"

Bryony watches him go, leaving a trail of opened doors behind him. She sighs. Arthur spends so much time making everyone else happy--she just wants him to be happy too.

She heads back towards her office to pick up her photos and tries to put the whole mess out of her mind, at least for the moment. She doesn't want to spoil her vacation, even if the worry about Arthur has been a constant low thrum since the day she properly met him. When she comes back, she'll try to use it to come up with a plan. Doing things fueled by worry has turned into a surprisingly useful tool. For now, though, she has two weeks of sun, sand, and ocean to look forward to, accompanied by the prettiest elf in the tech division. And, of course, three days of trading tips and news with other professional wrappers. She can help Arthur later.

***

Jack Frost has a fortress about an hour away by snowmobile. A year ago, Arthur would have asked an elf to take him and spent the entire time whimpering and squeezing his eyes shut to keep from being ill. He thinks he's come a long way, even if he has the snowmobile on its lowest possible speed. It's a nice ride, or he imagines it would be if he was looking anywhere but at the snow straight in front of him, his large, durable HOHO Jr clipped into place on the front of the control panel and calling out directions so he doesn't have to look down. 

Steve thinks that Jack Frost's fortress is ostentatious, with it's turrets and flags whipping in the wind, but Arthur secretly thinks that the S-1 is a tiny bit ostentatious, so he's not sure he trusts Steve's judgement. To Arthur, the fortress is...well, it's just _neat_. It reminds him of the play castle he'd had as a child, the one his dad brought him when he was seven after the very detailed letter that Arthur wrote. He thinks the elves went to special trouble to make it for him, modeling the little people inside to the exact specifications he'd illustrated in his letter. He'd loved it so much, he hadn't even asked for anything for the next five Christmases. 

That was back when the elves had liked him, when his weirdness was cute instead of something he should have grown out of already. Now the elves didn't like him so much as treat him like some sort of pop star and it was just...weird. He's not sure it's any better than the way they used to make jokes behind his back. At least he has Bryony, now, and Amelia is starting to warm up to him, he thinks, after that time he accidentally short-circuited her prototype navigation system.

Not that any of that _really_ matters. What really matters is Christmas, is making the best day of the year extra special for every child. No one looks at him funny for making that his life's purpose now, for devoting all his energy to it. No one except Bryony, who keeps telling him to take a day off, but he's just fine. He's doing good work. That's what's important.

Besides, if he took a day off, what would he do? Whom would he spend it with? No, better to keep working.

He finds the door to the fortress and his snowmobile putters to a stop. There's a large iron snowman on the wall next to the door. His nose is a large glowing button and Arthur shrugs and presses it. He can hear, distantly, a buzz echoing from within.

He waits.

And waits.

It's almost ten minutes before the large wooden doors swing open. Arthur doesn't mind the wait, it gives him time to go over some ideas he's had for increased festivity, and he startles out of his thoughts at the appearance of a young woman in the open doorway.

"Oh!" he says. "I'm so sorry, I was miles away!"

"Obviously," the woman says, though it's more amused than unkind. She has a pleasant accent. She's a bit shorter than him, with blonde hair pulled into a messy bun and wearing a dark blue dress that's the same color as her eyes. She's holding a clipboard. "Business?" she asks.

"Oh, right!" Arthur says. "My name is Arthur--well, I suppose Santa. I'm the new Santa--well, I suppose it's been a few years now. Anyway, I'd like to see Jack Frost about a little boy's Christmas request."

The woman arches one eyebrow at him.

"It's July," she says. "Aren't you starting a bit early, then?"

"It's never too early to start thinking about Christmas!" Arthur tells her. "I have a letter from a little boy who would really like it to snow for Christmas, and I know that Mr. Frost and my father have worked together in the past on things like this."

"It's do-able," the woman says. "There are a finite number of white Christmases that are allowed each year, but we're not much bothered by where they are. What part of what country are we talking about?"

"Australia!" Arthur says. "I'm not sure which part, actually."

The woman stares at him.

"Australia?" she asks. 

"Yes!" Arthur says, grinning.

"Santa," she starts.

"You can call me Arthur," Arthur tells her. "I mean, some people think it's weird, but Santa's more of a title."

"Mr. Claus," the woman says. "I don't know if you're aware of this, but Australia is in the southern hemisphere. That means Christmas is in their summer."

"I know!" Arthur says. "That's what would make this so special for Johnny!"

"Mr. Claus," she says after another moment of silence that she spends staring at him dubiously, "There are certain rules about weather and snowfall and winter and not causing a global catastrophe and, I don't know, destroying an ecosystem." 

Arthur frowns. Bryony had said the same thing.

"Surely there's a way to make it snow just a little?" he asks. "Just a teensy bit?" He holds up his gloved hand and pinches his fingers together to illustrate. "Without destroying the ecosystem or anything terrible like that? Maybe, if he's not too busy, I could talk to Mr. Frost about it?"

"Mr. Frost is away on business," the woman says. "But, as his daughter, I more-or-less run the place in his absence and I'm sorry to say, there is no way I can make it snow in Australia for Christmas."

"His daughter?" Arthur asks. He's only met Jack Frost once and he vaguely remembers a towering, imposing fellow with spiky dark hair. 

"Jillian Frost," the woman says, and holds out her hand. Arthur shakes it automatically. "My parents went a bit crazy with the J names. My brother is Jordan and our cat is Jeckles. The 'Jack' bit is inherited, so I don't know why. My dad's real name is Norman."

"Norman Frost?" 

"That's why the Jack bit is inherited," Jillian says. "Look, Santa-- _Arthur_. I appreciate your dedication to your job, but you need to appreciate mine. I can't make it snow in Australia for Christmas. It just doesn't happen."

"Oh," Arthur says. He looks back at his snowmobile. "Then...well, I'm sorry for bothering you. I just want everyone to have the things you want. My friend Bryony says that sometimes I get a bit carried away."

"Well, snow in the southern hemisphere for Christmas is getting a little carried away," Jillian says. "Have a nice day."

The large wooden doors shut in Arthur's face before he can even reply. He stand and stares at them for a few moments before trudging back to his snowmobile and heading back home. 

There are lots of other letters to look through, yet. And he's sure Johnny will get something wonderful for Christmas anyway. And maybe by December, he'll have forgotten he wanted snow, anyway.

It doesn't quite leave his mind, though, even later that night as he's curled up in his big empty bed, drifting off to sleep.

*  
 _August_  
*

There's a hard copy of the report Steve needs to finish his presentation somewhere in the records department, but damned if he knows where it is. He curses again IT's need to shut down the systems for twenty-four hours to update all the servers. It couldn't wait until next week, when this meeting will be over and he'll be on his long-awaited yearly vacation?

He grumbles to himself about incompetent elves as he ducks out of one room and heads down to the next, but stops when he sees Arthur loafing in the halls, looking...well, not like Arthur. It takes Steve a moment figure out what's wrong, but after staring at his younger brother for a moment, he realizes that Arthur isn't smiling. In fact, he looks downright conflicted. 

It's peculiar. And, while Steve doesn't entirely care, since the great Christmas fiasco of 2011, he's tried to be kinder to Arthur, to see things from his point of view. He may have been slightly bitter that first night, frustrated at the loss of what he thought would be his legacy, but one encounter with a child was enough for a lifetime and he has to admit he's enjoyed being in charge behind the scenes more than he can imagine enjoying spending Christmas flying around and letting everyone else do the work.

"Arthur?" he asks, slowing his stride.

"Oh!" Arthur looks up and his usual smile is back in place. "Sorry, Steve! Do you need something?"

"Uh," Steve says, considering his response. "You look...like there's something on your mind?"

He hopes he looks interested and considerate and not as awkward as he feels.

"No, no," Arthur says. "I mean. Yes, a little. It's not a big deal, I'm just thinking about--well, there's this woman I met a few weeks ago and I'm just still thinking about it."

Women trouble. Of course. Could Arthur have picked something Steve was _more_ unqualified to answer?

"Ah," he says. "Well...where women are concerned...you should definitely...women like a bit of wooing and apology. I hear."

Arthur blinks at him. "Wooing?" he asks.

"Oh, you know," Steve says. "Candy...flowers...moonlight strolls...uh, did I say flowers?" Steve's romantic life has been a series of fulfilling one-night stands and a more regular arrangement with a fellow he met at a TED talk last year, but there's no commitment involved. Steve's first love is his job. His second love is the S-1. He doesn't feel the need to fill the number three spot with anyone in particular yet.

"Flowers?" Arthur says, still perplexed, and for one horrible moment, Steve wonders if his mother had somehow neglected to give Arthur the very detailed and extensive sex ed talk that Steve himself had received at thirteen. "I don't know that flowers would help her give me an appointment to see her father, but they might."

"Father?" Steve asks. He should have kept walking. He should have just kept walking.

"Yes," Arthur says. "Jack Frost. I have a question for him and when I spoke with his daughter last month, she told me it was impossible, but I still think I should try and make a case to her father if I can."

A business associate. The woman is a business associate. Steve wants to slump to the floor, he's so relieved, but instead he just says, "You need facts on your side. Draw up a proposal with evidence for whatever it is you're trying to get out of him. Present it to her and ask her to let you present it to him. You can't argue with facts."

Arthur's regular smile lights up his face.

"Oh, you're _brilliant_ , Steve!" he says. "Thanks!" Then he's off like a shot, running down the halls and leaving the damn doors open in his wake.

Steve doesn't even bother yelling after him, returning to his report with no small amount of relief.

***

Arthur spends three hours going through old books and old weather records and then writing everything meticulously on index cards. He learns a lot about Australia beyond their weather, which is always nice--Arthur likes learning about new places. He always feels a little like an outsider when he visits the various countries around the world. Sure, he's only there for a few minutes each year, but he wants to feel more involved. He wants to be able to put himself in the shoes of all the children to whom he spreads cheer.

Note cards in hand, he bundles up and heads back to Jack Frost's fortress via snowmobile. He's really getting the hang of these things--he barely feels sick and he even spends a few minutes going on the second lowest speed when he's sure there are no animals or people around that might accidentally get in his way. It's very nearly fun, and before he knows it, he's back at the familiar wooden doors to the Frosts' fortress. He presses the snowman's nose, and this time it's only three or four minutes until the door opens.

It's Jillian again. Today she's wearing a glittery silver and purple dress. Her hair is up again and she's got glasses on.

"Hello," she says.

"Hello!" Arthur says. "I don't know if you remember, but my name is Arthur and I'm Santa--"

"I remember you, Arthur," Jillian says. "It's still not going to snow on Christmas in New South Wales."

"Wait!" Arthur says before she can go back inside. "Please--I've done some research. I made a presentation."

Jillian hesitates and looks at him for a long time before she says, "Okay, fine. Come in."

The inside of the Frost fortress is warm, despite the foreboding look of the outside of the structure. There are lots of paintings on the walls and lamps on every surface. It's very empty, though--Arthur doesn't hear much activity from within, only the sounds of Jillians trainers and his snow boots on the stone floor. She leads him down several corridors and then through a door into--

Well, into a winter wonderland.

The walls are painted a blue so pale it's almost white. Every piece of furniture is sleek white and chrome. The computer on the shiny glass and white wood desk is displaying a wallpaper of a forest covered in snow and icicles. Strands of white and blue light twist around the top of the walls. There are pictures of idyllic winter scenes neatly framed. 

Jillian takes a seat at the desk and motions for Arthur to sit in the (fluffy, white) chair across from her.

"This is beautiful!" he says, looking around. She seems startled, but smiles at him. It's a kind smile, and maybe slightly embarrassed.

"I love winter," she says. "I mean, I'm a Frost, of course I love winter, but I really...appreciate the beauty. I love what we do. Jordan wants to be a chef, which is fine, and Mum enjoys it well enough, but she still makes Dad take her somewhere warm and sunny every year in the off seasons. But me? I'm like my Dad. It's art. And I'm good at it. All the photos are mine."

Arthur looks more closely at the framed photographs. The detail is lovely. 

"I like the ice on that one," he says, pointing to a cottage with icy frost climbing on the windows. 

"Thank you," Jillian says. "That's my favorite." 

They share a smile and a slightly awkward pause before Jillian says, "Anyway. Your presentation."

"Right!" Arthur says. His voice goes a bit high, but he's used to that, and he doesn't let it bother him as he takes off his coat and pulls out his note cards.

"Now," he says, looking at the first one, "it is possible for the air in the clouds to be cold enough for snow without the snow sticking on the ground, thus ruining any growing plants or hurting any local animals. There have been several instances of unseasonal snow in Australia, as recently as 2010, when it snowed just in time for Christmas."

He flips to the second notecard and steals a glance at Jillian. Her expression is unreadable.

"I've studied your father's work in the past. He's made it snow for single towns before and, more than once, single streets within towns. What I'm suggesting is a very tiny snowfall surrounding Johnny's house. It doesn't have to stick or get cold enough to frost, just a little snow to answer his Christmas wish. I don't think it's an unreasonable request."

He reads that last line directly off the notecard. Bryony actually wrote it for him and instructed him to say it firmly, but his voice wobbles. He just so hates asking people for things they're unhappy to give.

Jillian hums and taps her fingers on the desk. Arthur tries not to squirm.

"Well," she finally says, "I appreciate the research, but it's still not going to happen."

Arthur's shoulders slump.

"But I did all that research!" Arthur says. "It makes sense!"

"It really doesn't," Jillian says. "But, look, it's not my call anyway. My dad makes those types of decisions and he'll be at the South Pole for another month and a half. October 1 he should be back here, but I don't think he's going to grant your request either. There are rules about this sort of thing, you know. Little boys don't get to decide when it snows."

"Well, why not?" Arthur asks. "If they really, really want it--if it will really make them happy and you _can_ do it, why don't you?"

"It's complicated," Jillian says.

"It's not complicated at all," Arthur says. "I do it all the time."

"Well, that's different," Jillian says. "You're _Santa_. It's your job to make people happy. Happiness isn't a requirement in most other jobs." She doesn't say it unkindly. In fact, she's smiling, albeit sadly.

"You're happy in your job, aren't you?" he asks her.

"I am," she says. "Like I said, I love it. I can't wait to take over for my dad. But other people don't generally love snow as much as I do. They just see the muck and gloom and cold and inconvenience."

"That's silly!" Arthur says. "Snow is _beautiful_. And the world can use a little reminder to slow down and look at what's around you."

"I wish everyone else saw it that way," she says. She sighs and looks wistful for just a moment, then stands up. "Anyway, I'll see you out. Most of the staff is down at the South Pole with Dad and Mum."

Arthur follows her back outside and wonders, as he gets back on the snowmobile, just what would make Jillian Frost's Christmas perfect.

*  
 _September_  
*

Arthur is distracted.

Arthur has almost always been distracted. Arthur was a distracted baby and a distracted adolescent. He's always had his head in the clouds, just like his father, and Margaret firmly believes that's what makes them both such wonderful Santas. But these past few months, Arthur's distraction has been more than just the usual pre-Christmas inertia or holiday thoughts. He's been walking around looking thoughtful and unsettled since July, and Margaret knows exactly what's bothering him.

"He's in love," she tells Malcolm one night on their way back from dance class. They're trying to learn the tango and it's great fun, even if Malcolm can't seem to figure out the steps half the time.

"Arthur?" Malcolm says. "Our Arthur? Are you sure you don't mean Steve?"

Steve, Margaret thinks, has been seeing a nice young man from France semi-regularly for sex, but she doesn't think it's serious. She wonders if Steve will ever find someone he loves more than his work, but she's not given up hope for him yet. As long as he's happy, she's happy, and the same goes for Arthur. 

"No, Arthur," Margaret says. "Haven't you noticed? He's not been concentrating on anything. I know that look."

"What look?" Malcolm asks.

"The look of love," Margaret says. "It's the same look you had when you first started courting me."

"Courting?" Malcolm asks. He looks stricken. Margaret's not entirely surprised--Malcolm hates change. He doesn't want to see the boys grow up, even though they're both nearly grown already. That doesn't stop time from marching onward, however. "Arthur's courting?"

"Well, dating," Margaret says. "Or, at least, there's some young woman or man he'd like to be dating. You should talk to him, dear. See if you can get him to open up."

Malcolm mutters something indistinct and returns his attention to the snowy road in front of them.

The next evening, though, she's searching for her toolbox so she can mend her taser when she hears Malcolm clear his throat in the next room. She knows she shouldn't, but she can't help but linger near the door to listen in, if only so she can diffuse the situation if it gets out of control.

"So," Malcolm says. "Arthur. Your mother tells me that you--well, that there's some...business. With a young woman. Or a young man?"

"Business with--oh! You mean Jillian! Well, yes, I suppose I had hoped there would be, but it doesn't seem like it's going to work out."

"Yes, well--you know that these things...well, sometimes they take time and if you really want something you should...go after it. Especially if...well, you know. Happiness is...important?"

It sounds like each word pains Malcolm, but he's marching forward and she's proud of him for doing that much. Jillian. Margaret is sure she's heard that name before. She'll have to check her Facebook friends later. It's not like there are many people up in these parts for Arthur to be interested in.

"I think so too!" Arthur says. "And I told her that last time but--well, maybe I'll stop by tonight and see if she wants to talk about it again. I'm sure we can work something out!"

"Well...good," Malcolm says. "I'm glad. Just, ah--be careful, yeah?"

"Of course!" Arthur says, and he's already up and slamming out of the room.

Well, that was surprisingly easy. Margaret smiles to herself and takes her toolkit back to her office. Maybe they'll even have an extra for turkey at this year's Christmas.

***

It's back to the first speed on the snowmobile as Arthur returns to the Frost fortress. The sun is already setting, and driving at night is tricky enough without the dangers of speeding. He still makes good time, and he's smiling when he rings the bell. It's another long wait until Jillian answers, though; the sun has mostly gone down.

"Arthur?" she asks. "I told you, my father doesn't get back until October."

"I know," Arthur says. "But my father gave this speech about...well, I'm not quite sure I followed all of it, but he was definitely encouraging me to talk to you about all of this again."

"Consider it talked," Jillian says dryly. "Now, if you don't mind, I was in the middle of burning down the house trying to make dinner."

"Burning the house down?" Arthur asks. Jillian leans against the doorframe and sighs.

"I'm a terrible cook," she admits. "I burn everything. But I'm out of sandwich things and instant soup and the woman who's been doing the cooking while my family is away is off for the weekend."

"Well, I can help," Arthur offers. He'd hate to think of Jillian eating a burnt dinner. "My mum taught me how to cook when I was little. It's one of the only things I can do without messing it up too badly, actually."

Jillian eyes him warily.

"I'm not going to give you a white Christmas in Australia just because you make me dinner," she finally says.

"I wouldn't dream to ask for it!" Arthur says. "But you deserve a non-burnt dinner."

Jillian watches him for another moment and then waves him inside.

"You're a bit of a strange Santa," she says, leading him down the halls.

"That's what everyone tells me," Arthur says. "Well, actually, they've been saying it since long before I was Santa."

"I can imagine," Jillian says.

The kitchen seems like it's on the other side of the building from the door--no wonder it took Jillian so long to answer. They arrive to a burnt, stale smell emanating from the microwave and a pile of dishes in the sink covered with--well, Arthur's actually not sure he wants to know. Jillian looks embarrassed, rubbing the back of her neck as she takes the scene in.

"I'm good at a lot of things," she says. "I can crochet like nobody's business. And garden. And I'm good at logic puzzles and sudoku. But cooking is beyond me. You would think it would be easy, just follow directions exactly, but I always seem to muck it up somehow."

Arthur approaches the walk-in pantry and examines the shelves. There are a dozen options, but he goes for the pasta and canned sauce--easy and quick and he can make enough that Jillian can keep the leftovers so she doesn't burn down the kitchen tomorrow night, either.

"It's fine," he says when he reappears in the kitchen. Jillian is trying to scrape something off from inside the microwave. "Everyone has their strengths. I'm good at writing letters to children and cooking and stamp collecting and learning new languages, but I can't crochet or garden or do any of those other things you've said you can do."

"Yes, well," Jillian says. "Try explaining that to my mother, who doesn't understand why I can't both solve advanced math problems in my head and feed myself."

Arthur laughs and Jillian laughs too, suddenly and abruptly.

"Nothing," she says, when Arthur smiles at her tentatively and confused. "It's just...you have a wonderful laugh, you know."

"Thanks," Arthur says, and turns to the stove before he starts to blush.

Making pasta is relatively quick work and Arthur fills it by telling Jillian the story of how he became Santa. He's not really told it to anyone before, not by himself. The day after the whole fiasco, he shared storytelling duties with Bryony and Grandsanta, and he's never really needed to tell it again, since. He doesn't have many friends. 

Jillian laughs and gasps and scolds him in all the right places, and by the time he's finished, she's putting their dishes in the sink with the rest of the washing up.

"Oh, wow!" Arthur says. "I didn't mean to talk the whole night!"

"It's fine," Jillian says. "It was fun. You're a good storyteller and it was a good story. The least I could do after having you make me dinner is let you talk all night if you want to."

"No, no," Arthur said. "That's terrible manners. I didn't let you get a word in!"

"Well," Jillian says, "next time I'll have to tell you my life story, then. That's all. Not that it's nearly as exciting as yours." She hands Arthur his coat and hat. She has a funny kind of smile on her face. It makes Arthur want to smile too, so he does.

"Next time?" he asks.

"Yeah," she says with that same smile. "Next time."

Right, he thinks a few minutes later as he snaps his goggles into place and sits on his snowmobile. He'll need to come back next month to talk to her father. This isn't the last time he'll see Jillian Frost.

He finds himself looking forward to October with a zeal he normally saves for Christmas.

*  
 _October_  
*

Grandsanta knows something's up with Arthur. 

He can tell these things. He's a Claus after all. And his mind might not be what it used to be, sure, but he still knows things. He can still tell things. And he can tell that Arthur's mind has turned to romance.

At least, he can tell once he hears Margaret telling that useless son of his the same thing.

It's not hard to track Arthur down. The boy never leaves the bloody compound. Even Steve with all his computers and mechanical doodads takes vacations, but not Arthur. No, Arthur doesn't even have any friends except for that damn wrapping elf. But Grandsanta's going to help him. With tutelage, Arthur's going to be able to drag that woman home, whoever she is, and do it all properly and what not.

He bangs his cane on Arthur's door.

"Arthur. Arthur!" he shouts.

Arthur looks up from a pile of letters and frowns.

"Grandsanta?" he asks.

"Sit down, boy, I've got a lot to cover," he says, barging into the room and taking a seat on the chair next to Arthur's desk. "Now, I heard your mother talking about a woman and--well, you know, women notice these things. Not like they have anything better to do with their time than pick up on romantic whims and what not. I mean, they're hardly suited for real work, so they have to do something to entertain themselves. I'm not knocking it, mind. Just saying that I wouldn't have noticed it myself, save for her pointing it out and--"

Arthur makes a choked sound and a face. Poor boy's embarrassed at being caught out.

"Oh, don't fret," he says to Arthur, patting his shoulder. "A woman's normal! A woman's not the worst you could get caught with! It could be an elf! Or, like my brother Rupert, a reindeer. That was a dark Christmas, boy, a dark, dark Christmas."

"Uh, Grandsanta," Arthur says.

"Where was I?" Grandsanta says to himself. "Right. A woman. Now, the key to wooing a woman is that they're quite easily fooled by displays of manliness. Now, you might not have much going for you in the strength or the looks, but you're _Santa_ and that carries weight. In my day, Clauses had the pick of the women. Any woman they'd like. Why, I remember, before your grandmother, I--"

Arthur is up and backing quickly out of the room.

"I'm so sorry, Grandsanta," he says. "I just remembered that I have an appointment. With Jack Frost. Right now. Sorry!"

He's gone before Grandsanta can say anything else, sprinting off towards the snowmobile shed and the reindeer stable.

The reindeer stable. Huh. Maybe Grandsanta heard wrong. Maybe it's reindeer after all. Would explain why the boy's so damn jumpy.

***

Once Arthur is settling onto his snowmobile, it occurs to him that he doesn't actually have to go see Jillian. Now that he's out of the room, Grandsanta will never know if he left and he can just as easily go to his room and read or watch a movie or check in with Bryony or whatever he'd like.

Still, he finds that "whatever he'd like" actually _is_ going to see Jillian. Her father should be back by now, and maybe he can finally see the man and ask about the snow for Johnny.

Even if he's not back, an evening spent with Jillian won't be too bad. It won't be bad at all, in fact.

He hums along to a song in his head as he rushes over the snowy landscape at the third speed, making it over to the Frosts' in record time. He parks his snowmobile out front and rings the bell. The answer is almost instantaneous and it's...not Jillian.

An elf with big, round glasses looks up at him.

"Yes?" he asks. 

"Oh," Arthur says. "Uh, hello! Is Jillian around?"

The elf blinks.

"May I tell her who's calling?" the elf asks.

"Oh, of course!" Arthur says. "It's Arthur--oh, I mean, well. Santa."

The elf's eyes go wide behind his glasses.

" _The_ Santa?" the elf asks.

"Oh, yes, of course," Arthur says. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

The elf looks faint. He's also...not going to get Jillian.

"Can I...help with something?" Arthur asks.

"Oh my goodness," the elf says. "I just...Santa. _Santa_! I never imagined!"

Arthur laughs awkwardly. Before things can go any further, Jillian appears.

"Martin, what's--Arthur!"

"Jillian!" Arthur says, sighing with relief. "I was just looking for you and your elf went a little--well."

The elf, Martin, is still staring up at Arthur, pale and wide-eyed.

"Oh, you know elves," Jillian says, stepping around him. "Do you need something?" 

"Uh, not really," Arthur admits, though he belatedly realizes it's a lie--he really does need to see her father. "Oh, I mean--well, your father."

"Well, my father happens to be out today," she says. "There's some sort of strange weather thing going on that he has to see to. If you try back next week, he should be around."

"Oh," Arthur says. "Well...that's okay." What he'd really like to do is just talk to Jillian some more--it's rather soothing and he always finds himself coming away from their interactions with a smile on his face and a sense of calm. He doesn't know how to say that to her, but something of it must show on his face.

"Why don't we take a walk?" she asks. 

"That sounds great!" Arthur says, relieved. 

"Just let me get my coat."

Jillian disappears, pulling Martin back inside by the arm. She reappears a moment later with a thick navy coat that he pulls on over her sky blue tunic and jeans. She pulls a white wool hat over her head and the pen that was sticking out of her bun pokes through the top.

"Ready?" she asks, and he nods.

Jillian leads them around the fortress and up a small hill. Up top, there's a large, flat area that's been cleared. There are benches set up surrounding a frozen pond. It's a sweet little escape from the larger, looming landscape of snow and ice, something quaint and quiet. Jillian brushes off one of the benches, gesturing for Arthur to sit next to her.

"So," she says. "What's on your mind?"

"Oh, nothing," Arthur says. "To be honest, I just needed a break from home. My parents are out and Steve's busy and I was stuck with Grandsanta and he's _brilliant_ he is, but he's also...well, old." He winces. "He was telling me about his brother and--well, I'm not sure why or what else or what brought it on, but I couldn't believe it. He's so dismissive of my mum and of, you know, the ability of women to actually do anything. I want to shake him and tell him that it's not 1919 any longer!"

Jillian shakes her head, giggling.

"Oh, me too," Jillian says. "I mean, with my grandfather. He lives here still and I just can't believe the crazy things he says, sometimes. I know they don't seem crazy to him but I can't help but cringe! Do you think it's just time? Will it be like that when we're old? WIll my grandkids say, 'Oi, nana, I can't believe you kept goldfish as pets! That's so disturbing! What about goldfish civil rights?'"

Arthur laughs and then trails off. "You don't think goldfish need civil rights, do you?"

"Arthur!" Jillian says with a burst of laughter. "It was a joke."

"I know," he says, "but now I won't be able to stop worrying about it."

"You certainly worry about a lot of things," Jillian says, leaning on her elbow and studying him. Arthur finds he likes the shape of her mouth. It's..cheerful. She's sarcastic and focused, but the shape of her mouth makes it seem like she has a secret she's very pleased with, one that Arthur thinks he'd like to know for himself.

"I know," he says to her. "I'm afraid of almost everything. Flying, heights, animals, buttons--"

"But you _fly_ in a _sleigh_ every year!" Jillian exclaims. "And I imagine there must be buttons on it!"

"And it's terrifying every year," Arthur admits. "But there's something sort of fun about doing things that scare you, don't you think?"

Jillian smiles slowly in a way that lights up her eyes.

"Yeah," she says. "Yeah, I do."

They talk until it's dark. They talk about families and hobbies and crazy stories from their childhoods. They talk until Arthur can't stop shivering and Jillian rolls her eyes.

"Go home, Arthur," she says. 

Arthur wants to argue, but he shivers hard enough that his teeth clack together. Jillian walks him back to his snowmobile and stands next to him as he fumbles with his goggles and the controls. He feels like he should say something to her, but he can't think of what it is.

"What do you want for Christmas?" is what he says.

Jillian stares at him for a moment.

"I'm going to let you figure that one out for yourself," she says. 

It's not until Arthur is almost home that he realizes he forgot to ask about Johnny's snow entirely.

*  
 _November_  
*

It's another trail of open doors leading to the Letters department that catches Bryony's attention.

There's a wrapping meeting in an hour--this is crunch time, after all, the six weeks leading up to Christmas. Bryony's been training, of course, both with her wrapping duties and for the mission. She's been accompanying Arthur since he made Santa, mostly because the other elves are at a loss as to how to handle him. He's been an elf himself for so long that he doesn't exude the authority they need, and Bryony doesn't trust the more power hungry elves not to use his need to please against him. 

Also, it's quite fun, going out and running around and delivering presents. Quite a rush. 

She follows the hall down, once again, to Arthur's old office. He's not looking at a letter today, but lying flat on the floor and staring at the ceiling. He looks vulnerable and Bryony doesn't say anything, just comes into the office and sits on the floor, crosslegged, next to him.

"Bryony," Arthur says some minutes later, "I'm having some trouble with something."

"You don't say," Bryony says, but the sarcasm is lost on Arthur, who rolls onto his side and stares up at her earnestly.

"There's this woman I've been--you know that letter from the boy, Johnny? About snow for Christmas?"

Bryony tries to remember a letter. Snow, Johnny...right. The last time she was here, in July.

"Vaguely," she says.

"Well," Arthur says, "I went to Jack Frost to ask about it. Only he wasn't there. His daughter Jillian was there and she denied the request, but then Steve came up with some back-up strategies and I went back and then--well, things kept coming up and I kept going back to see her and I can't stop thinking about her. I don't know why. She's not even officially taken over for her father yet, so she couldn't really help me with Johnny's letter, but I'm not even thinking about her because of the letter, I'm just...thinking about her. I don't understand it."

There are times that Bryony wants to wrap Arthur up in a hug and never let him go. He can be obnoxious and odd and trying, but he's so _good_ that she doesn't know how he can stand living in the world, sometimes. He's so happy. He's so dedicated into making everyone else happy that she hardly believes he exists.

"Arthur," Bryony says, voice quiet. "I think you do."

Arthur stares at her, eyes wide and confused.

"Arthur, you _like_ her," she says.

"Of course I like her," Arthur says. "She's so smart. And she has a pretty smile."

Bryony sits and stares at Arthur with her eyebrows raised. It's going to come to him any minute now, she knows, she just has to wait it out.

And three, two....

Arthur's jaw drops. He sits up so quickly he almost knocks Bryony over.

"Oh!" he says. " _Oh_! I _like_ her!" 

The elation is short-lived, however. Bryony should have seen this coming. The joy is soon replaced with terror and Arthur is clutching her hand.

"Bryony, I've never liked someone before!" he whispers loudly. "What do I do? Do I tell her? Do I keep it a secret? What if she hates Christmas? What if she's allergic to wrapping paper? _What if she doesn't like me?_ "

Arthur's squeezing her hand hard enough to grind the bones together and Bryony has to give a forceful tug to get him off her.

"Arthur!" she snaps, and he backs off, wringing his hands together instead and looking rather green for a man who seems to be falling in love. "Tell her. I'm sure she likes you back. She seems to like spending time with you, right?"

"Sure," Arthur says, though he doesn't sound sure. "I mean, we talked for a long time last time I was there. I was mostly going to get away from Grandsanta when he was on one of his rants, but once I got there we sat up by this pond for hours and just talked about all sorts of things. It was nice. But cold."

"That was a date, Arthur," Bryony says flatly. "She took you on a date."

"It wasn't a date," Arthur insists. "It was just...two people...sitting and getting to know each other."

"That's what dating is," Bryony tells him. "Look. I'm sure she likes you. And the worst thing that happens if you tell her is that she says she doesn't like you and you still get to be friends and spend time talking and hanging out and...whatever. But you have to tell her. If you don't say anything, you'll never know."

Arthur bites his lip, and Bryony sighs and reaches out to take one of his hands in hers.

"You spend all your time making other people happy, Arthur," she says. "You get to be happy too. Don't be afraid of it."

"I can't help it," Arthur says with a small smile. "It's what I'm best at."

"No," Bryony says. "Being wonderful is what you're best at. And I'm sure she'll see that."

"You really think so?" Arthur asks.

If pressed, Bryony would agree that worrying is what Arthur's best at, but for the sake of the continuation of the Claus line and Arthur's happiness, she says, "Yes, I do."

There's a look of determination on Arthur's face that's almost foreign. Bryony thinks the last time she saw it was Christmas 2011.

"Okay," he says. "Okay. Then I'm going to do it. I'm going to tell her I like her."

"That's the spirit!" Bryony says, and hopes that she's close enough that Arthur can't change his mind before he goes through with it.

***

Arthur has a speech in his head. He wrote it last night in his room and he's been repeating it to himself ever since. He doesn't need the HOHO to find the Frost place anymore, and he spends the ride going over what he's going to say, word for word.

"Jillian, I really like spending time with you. You're really smart and so talented and a wonderful artist. You bring so much happiness into the world and you have a really pretty smile and I like you and I hope you like me too and you should come over to my place for dinner."

He takes a deep breath and then starts from the beginning. He has to have it down. He has the words scrawled on a notecard just in case he forgets, but he wants to do it without the notecard. He wants her to realize he really means it.

And he does. Wow, does he ever. He wonders how it took him so long to realize, to understand why he looked forward to seeing Jillian so much, why he always felt lighter and happier for days afterward. He's met dozens and dozens of people in his life, and he's not cataloged all their expressions the way he has with Jillian. He thinks about her laugh as he's falling asleep at night. He thinks about how cute it is that she can't cook. He wonders if she'll show him her crochet projects and her garden. He hopes she'll teach him how to do sudoku puzzles.

He thought, at first, all of that was friendship. He doesn't have many friends, so it was possible these were all things he was missing out on, things everyone thought about their friends. But, well. He loves Bryony deeply, but he's never wanted to spend hours staring at her over dinner. He's never thought about the color of her eyes or the shape of her mouth.

He realizes, abruptly, that he wants to _kiss_ Jillian, and nearly slams on the breaks.

Kissing. Oh god, kissing. He's afraid of kissing.

He's a shaking mess by the time he makes it to the Frost fortress. It takes him three tries to hit the doorbell, and when an elf--a different one from last time--pushes the door open, he jumps and screeches.

The elf looks unimpressed.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"I'm l-looking for--for--for Jillian?" he says. His voices squeaks and he cringes at the sound. 

"One moment," the elf says with a sigh and disappears. It's more than a moment until they return, though. It's enough moments that Arthur can pace back and forth in front of the house fifty-eight times. He's starting on fifty nine when Jillian appears in the doorway. Her dress is silver with blue metallic stars and she's got a blue wrap around her shoulders. Arthur wants to kiss her. Oh god. Oh god.

He trips backwards and falls on his behind in the snow. Jillian laughs and steps out, offering him a hand and pulling him up. He knows he's gone completely red.

"What's up, Arthur?" she asks.

"I--" He has a speech. He has a speech. "I--" He can do this. "I...really...like...spending time with you?"

Jillian's eyes widen. She smiles.

"I like spending time with you, too," she says.

"And--" What if she doesn't like him? "And--" What if she laughs at him? "And--" What if she hates him for even mentioning it? What if she thinks he's silly and childish? What if she thinks he's foolish for even thinking that someone as weird and dorky as him could ever, ever date her? Why is he even bothering? How could she ever like him? How could she--?

"Arthur," Jillian says. He blinks and looks at her. "'And?'" she asks.

"And--uh," he says, palms sweating beneath his gloves. "And--I've liked spending time with you but it's November and I really need to know about that snow for Johnny and if you can't get me an appointment with your father today, might there be someone who can?"

It all comes out in a rush. It's not what he means to say at all. He wants to take the words back, to erase them from the space between them, especially once he sees the look on Jillian's face, the way it goes surprised and then blank and then cool and aloof. She crosses her arms and glares at her. The smile he likes so much is gone completely.

"Is that all?" she asks. He opens his mouth to take it all back, to tell her what he really meant to say but...the words are gone. His mind is blank.

He nods.

"Well," she says. "I should have mentioned, but I asked my father about the Australian snow and he said it was impossible. And you were silly for asking. Now, if there's nothing else, I have things to attend to. Have a good night, Mr. Claus."

Arthur is left staring after her as she marches back inside and slams the doors behind her.

No. No no no.

He sits on his snowmobile with his head in his hands and stays that way for a long time.

It's better this way. It is. This way, he can focus on Christmas. It's just an awful time to be doing anything, let alone starting a relationship. He wouldn't be able to see her or talk to her, really, so this is for the best.

It's definitely for the best. 

He repeats that to himself on the way back home, but it's with less vigor and confidence. He parks the snowmobile and goes inside and crawls straight into bed. He knows he should meet the family for supper, but he needs a good wallow. One night to deal with what he's done before he gets up tomorrow and returns to the mammoth task of preparing Christmas for the rest of the world. It's his job to make everyone else happy. His own happiness is optional.

*  
 _Christmas_  
*

"Are you ready?" Bryony asks in the ready room. As head of her own division of wrapping, Bryony could be sitting in a cushy office, watching tonight's mission on her television, but she loves the thrill of being out in the world with Arthur. She's told him a hundred times that Christmas 2011 was one of the best nights of her life and she loves the ability to relive even a little of it. Amelia has told him that the real reason is because Bryony is the only elf who knows how to handle him, but that's fine, too. Bryony is the only person Arthur really knows how to handle himself. He's certainly messed up the thing with Jillian.

But he's not thinking about it. He's putting Jillian completely out of his mind and focusing on Christmas. He'll be 100% dedicated to making the perfect holiday for children all across the world. That's what's important--he's _Santa_ tonight, not Arthur, and Arthur being sad has no reflection on the night, on the holiday that _Santa_ is going to bring to the world.

He allows himself one sigh as he buttons his jacket. Bryony catches it and frowns at him.

"You know," she says, "you'll be a lot less busy once the mission is over. Maybe it would be best to go back and try to speak with her next week?"

"It doesn't matter," he tells Bryony. "I'm doing this. This is more important."

"But it's not _all_ that's important, Arthur," Bryony says. 

Arthur doesn't say anything--he's not sure he can take her pity, not just now. He has a job to do. The best job in the world.

There's the usual rush of adrenaline as the night starts, as the S-1 takes off and heads to the first country on their roster. Arthur smiles as he follows the elves' directions placing gifts in house after house, letting Steve's directions from back home wash over him. He's still smiling. He's forcing himself to put his all into it. He's so focused on being focused that he almost misses the announcement that there's been a weather fluctuation. The excited chatter from the elves doesn't rouse him, but Bryony snapping, "Arthur! _Look_!" does the job.

He does look. He looks out the window and sees snow falling lightly in the night sky. It's not particularly exciting, save for how beautiful snow always is, until Arthur realizes....

"Wait--aren't we--aren't we over Australia?" he asks.

Bryony's smile is nearly breaking her face in two.

"New South Wales!" she says. 

And then Arthur is smiling back.

He's at the head of the pack when the elves hit the ground, but instead of heading towards his designated house, he jumps up and down beneath the falling snow. 

"Bryony!" he says, laughing. "It's snowing! We're right by Johnny's house and it's snowing!"

"Well, I certainly hope it is, after all the trouble I went to!"

Arthur turns and there's Jillian, leaning against the fence outside of Johnny's house.

"You did it!" Arthur says, turning around as the snow catches in the light. "Jillian, you did it!" 

"I did," Jillian admits. The red and green dress she's wearing looks incongruous on her after so much time surrounded by blues and purples, but he likes it. He likes everything about this moment, and he throws his arms around Jillian and swings her around in his joy. It's snowing! For Johnny! On Christmas!

"This is brilliant!" he says. "This is just what he wanted! I thought you hated me!"

"I could never hate you, Arthur," she says. "I was...disappointed. But, as my mum always told me, if you want something, it's best to take it for yourself rather than wait for someone to bring it to you."

Arthur sways to a stop and looks at her, frowning. "What do you mean?" he asks.

"Did you figure out what I wanted for Christmas?" she asks him. He steadies her on the ground, but something about the look on her face keeps him from letting go of her all together. Instead, he looks at her closely, at the snowflakes stuck on her eyelashes and the half smile on her face and _oh_.

He's still processing everything when she kisses him, but he goes with it anyway, pulling her close and kissing her back.

It turns out that kissing is really nothing to be afraid of. In fact, it's pretty wonderful.

"I think that's what I wanted too," he says faintly when she pulls back. Just to be sure, he leans forward again, but before he can kiss her, Bryony is tugging sharply on his jacket.

"Arthur!" she snaps, the only person who calls him Arthur when they're out on a mission. "We need to keep going! That's why I told you to work all this out last month!"

Jillian just laughs and kisses him again, quickly, before stepping away.

"Go on, Santa," she says, grinning. "I'll see you for dinner. Your mum already invited me."

"Great!" Arthur says. He's dizzy and beaming and he doesn't care. "Great!" he says to Bryony. "Let's...you know!"

"Go deliver presents to all the children of the world in the next twenty four hours?" Bryony suggests dryly.

"Yes!" Arthur says. "That sounds brilliant, Bryony, let's do that!"

He hears Jillian laughing again as Bryony yanks him towards Johnny's house. He gets to spend the day bringing joy to all the children in the world, then come home for his favorite part of Christmas--dinner with his family, where Jillian will join them and hopefully there will even be more kissing.

Arthur grins as he follows Bryony into the house. Christmas is just the best day. The very best. He doesn't know that he's ever been so happy.


End file.
